


Non est ad astra mollis e terris via

by Mochi (spacestationtrustfund)



Series: 19th Century Limited [3]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 19th Century Limited, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Linguistics, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/Mochi
Summary: A full month had transpired before the doctor allowed Marius to move from his bed, and during that time Courfeyrac had regarded it as his solemn duty as a citizen to provide his friend with enough entertainment to last the duration of his period as an invalid.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Courfeyrac & Marius Pontmercy
Series: 19th Century Limited [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/634232
Comments: 6
Kudos: 123
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2019)





	Non est ad astra mollis e terris via

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estelraca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/gifts).



> For estelraca, who asked for these three:
> 
> I have developed a huge soft spot for these three having adventures together. Feel free to make it romantic or platonic. I think Courfeyrac would be so good for Cosette, and he and Marius have a wonderful close bond already. Is it an AU where Courfeyrac survives too, or where the whole barricade survives, or where they succeed? Is it some kind of crazy AU? Are they mermaid cowboys or some such? Does Courfeyrac keep things from going Terribly Wrong with Valjean by slapping some sense into Marius or actually listening to Cosette? Just something with the three of them together would be great.

A full month had transpired before the doctor allowed Marius to move from his bed, and during that time Courfeyrac had regarded it as his solemn duty as a citizen to provide his friend with enough entertainment to last the duration of his period as an invalid. When Cosette was not hovering at the bedside of Marius or anxiously checking his pulse for erraticism, there was Courfeyrac; although he, being a realist, claimed stoutly not to place any weight in such superstitions or what he regarded as _medical fads_ , he could often be found observing Marius’s eyes, watchful for glassiness; or brushing the unruly locks from Marius’s forehead, to check for a fever.

“It was always more the speciality of Joly,” Courfeyrac commented one evening, while holding the water-glass for Marius to drink; “the natural aptitude is misleading, I’ll admit, as these things often are.”

“What was?” asked Marius, languidly turning a page of the _journal_ which Courfeyrac had brought him earlier, as it discussed news of the trials.

“Why, all this.” Courfeyrac waved his free hand, as though he could encompass the sickroom and all its connotations with a mere gesture. “I had never found myself to be the type to linger at the bedsides of others, no matter how well I knew them. In all fairness,” he added with a slightly sombre air, “I had never found myself to be the type to emulate Spartacus, and yet you saw it all. More water?”

Marius shook his head. “I think you only stay in here with me because you wish to avoid my grandfather,” he said, unsure of whether he was meaning to be accusatory or enlightening.

“Your grandfather is a charming goodman,” Courfeyrac said. “If he has a fault, he has a palpably insatiable appetite for harangues, the likes of which not even Grantaire could best, although I am certain he shall try if he can. No, my friend, any avoidance is placed in his hands; I cannot blame him, as any man who has seen an absolute stranger covered in the contents of the sewers of this fine, _fine_ city will be like to baulk at the chance to shake his hand.”

“I’m certain if I only spoke to him,” Marius began; he was anxious that his grandfather, having accepted his fiancée, accept his friend; but Courfeyrac merely shook his head with a slight smile.

“No, for it was my finest waistcoat that was ruined alongside my dignity, and yours do not fit; I had no hat, an abomination; and to see the state of my cravat one might have thought that I wished to embody Enjolras in more than simply the ideal and the name of Progress, although I doubt I shall ever come close to his chastity. For now, do not trouble yourself with it, and rest.”

Marius permitted Courfeyrac to adjust his pillows, although the frown remained affixed to his face. “You bound up my wound with your cravat,” he said, as though just remembering; that same cravat which Courfeyrac had given him, was now situated in a drawer alongside the late Colonel Pontmercy’s medals and one of Cosette’s gloves.

“Indeed I had, and the state of my dress was quite terrible. It is simply impossible,” said Courfeyrac lightly, then lapsed back into that impenetrable silence from which Marius had yet had no luck in drawing him.

Marius had not worried that Cosette and Courfeyrac would dislike one another; in fact, he rather found that, when he was with one, all thoughts of the other were crowded from his mind. He had not envisioned a world in which the two of them were to meet, and his mind had ever shied away from the possibility thereof. Even after the two strings of his life had co-mingled irreparably, he had not had time to worry; during the period of his unconsciousness, Cosette, meaning to visit him and being turned away by the doctor, who was of the opinion that a woman at a sickbed would only hasten the death of the patient, had stumbled upon the room where Courfeyrac had been living, and the two had spent many an amiable hour in the gardens, conversing of many things. Marius, unaccustomed to this melding of the two people he held dearest to his heart, had nonetheless been able to pass off his utter surprise as residual fatigue as a result of his injuries.

“I say,” Courfeyrac remarked later in the afternoon, after Cosette had kissed Marius on the forehead and Courfeyrac himself on the cheek, then departed to visit her Papa, “this girl of yours, do you know her father?”

Marius blushed and busied himself with rearranging the papers strewn about his lap; Courfeyrac had been reading aloud to him in a rather ironic tone from the day’s Drapeau Blanc as well as more seriously from _Léila_ , which Marius had found rather confusing but entertaining. “Is it not natural for me to know her father, as I am to marry her?” he replied, raising his chin slightly.

Courfeyrac cocked an eyebrow at him from beneath the rim of his new hat, from which he had refused to part ever since the hat itself had been purchased from the chapelier’s. “Well, I daresay you know, then, of the nicknames given to him by, ah, certain students of l’École Polytéchnique.”

Marius frowned. The only student he knew whom he was certain attended school besides himself was Bossuet. “L’aigle?” he ventured hesitantly.

To his surprise and mild chagrin, Courfeyrac burst out into delighted laughter. “Oh, no, my friend,” said Courfeyrac merrily; “Monsieur Leblanc and his daughter Mademoiselle Lanoire—although I suppose she shall soon be _Madame_ Lanoire—but no matter; if you do not know, then it is of no importance.”

“I would like to know,” Marius protested; the reputation of his fiancée being at stake, he pushed himself up on his elbows and gazed balefully at Courfeyrac when his friend rushed to his side to aid him. “I am perfectly capable of sitting up on my own, Courfeyrac.”

“I am certain you are capable of many things that you could do on your own, but with which I could help you,” said Courfeyrac, but not unkindly. “As for your lady—well. It was a trivial matter, my dear Marius; the caprices of youth. We all grow to know better with age, although I fear too much in either direction will lead to naïveté in one case and senility in the case of your grandfather.” Courfeyrac helpfully gathered up the papers scattered across Marius’s legs, while Marius did his best to assist him.

“You know, I do believe I’ve discovered why you won’t take your dinner with us,” said Marius, as Courfeyrac tucked his blankets neatly back into place; “you’re frightened by my grandfather!”

“Why, it is the other way around if anything,” said Courfeyrac, offended; he, like other men of his position, viewed Monsieur Gillenormand as little more than a harangue wrapped up in bluster; Monsieur Gillenormand, for his part, viewed Courfeyrac as a foppish dandy who cared for none other than fashion and frivolity. Neither were entirely wrong. “Your grandfather,” Courfeyrac continued, taking a seat next to Marius, “is a frightening creature, no doubt, but he is like the statue of a lion. You have seen the ones on the Rue de Chanvrerie, have you not? He has plenty of roar, but lacks the teeth.”

“A lion,” murmured Marius, with a slight nod; the day was warm, and even though Cosette had opened the window, Marius was sleepy.

“I generally have no fear of marble, nor a marble lion,” admitted Courfeyrac; “Combeferre, were he here, would beg to differ, but I have had plenty of preparation in dealings with Enjolras. Perhaps we should introduce him to your grandfather, once he and the others are released.”

Marius had been half-dozing, but he startled awake. “No,” he protested, opening his eyes. “Are you mad?”

Courfeyrac laughed, and brushed back the few errant strands of hair that had fallen upon the forehead of Marius, much in the same manner that Cosette had kissed him in the same place. “Sometimes I think I am, yes,” he relented, and rose to go.

**Author's Note:**

> [ _Lélia_ by George Sand](https://www.britannica.com/topic/Lelia) (Courfeyrac is rather current in his literature), [Chanvrerie](https://www.chanvrerie.net/old/paris/index.html) (although I haven't the foggiest idea if there were lions, stone or otherwise, along the Rue de Chanvrerie), [_non est ad astra_ etc.](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/363918-non-est-ad-astra-mollis-e-terris-via---there)
> 
> The (head)canon that Enjolras is sloppy with his dress is based on an earlier section within the Brick where Hugo describes a young blond revolutionary with his _cravate_ undone; whether or not this is intended to be Enjolras, I do not know, but I like to think it is.


End file.
